A Supernatural Situation
by Wynter Spite
Summary: Lizzie Awesomesauce, as she likes to call herself, has just fallen into the world of Supernatural. Literally. Well, it was more like she fell on Dean, which could've been a better experience. If only she'd been paying attention. It's not everyday you get to meet the characters of your favorite TV show, after all. Now she has to change things, giving out witty remarks all the while.
1. Chapter 1

I watched without moving, catching my breath as angels fell out of the darkened sky, burning golden light as I yearned to reach out and touch them. They were stars bursting from the heavens, beautiful and bright, losing their wings and gaining a humanity I knew they never wanted.

The inky midnight blue was lit up with the glow of the angels, a waiting in the air though awe filled my mind. It was lovely, and sad. It was never meant to happen this way, and I called out to the world around me that if I could just stop time . . .

. . . but the moment was not rightfully mine, and the radiance of falling before my eyes took my heart and its last song, for the sky was not well and neither was I.  
I also had the down-putting suspicion I was dreaming.

* * *

I opened my eyes.

"Dang it," I said aloud.

As it turns out, I was, in fact, dreaming. Darn it.

I crawled out of the big bed and staggered over to the door.

Then I fell right through the carpeted floor. Onto some guy who really should not have been standing under me. Or he could have at least had the decency to be comfortable, but _nooo_. It was like falling on . . . on . . . something, but I tell you, it definitely wasn't a soft something.

I lay there for a stunned moment before pushed myself up, swaying only slightly before catching my balance. I then turned slowly to stare into the shocked hazel eyes of one Sammy Winchester.

I stared at his beautiful face in awe. "Pretty."

There was a moment of silence.

Then I said, "I'm not in Kansas anymore, am I, Toto?"

I looked down at Dean Winchester, the poor, unfortunate victim on whom I'd fallen and watched as he staggered upright.

Very suddenly, I had the attention of three trained hunters and, much less thrillingly, three loaded guns.

No one blinked. Truthfully, it was getting a bit creepy.

I held up my hands in surrender. "Whoa. Are those guns in your pockets or are ya'll just happy to see me?"

"Who are you?" Dean demanded.

I raised an eyebrow. "Buddy, I'm the queen of worlds. They call me the Boss, the Chief, the Big Bad Biscuit, and Better Than Cheesy French Fries."

I heard Bobby snort.

"How did you get here?" Sam interrupted before Dean could say something rude.

"I plummeted from a wooden land upon waking from my deepened rest, slicing through dimensions and years that I couldn't see."

"Yeah, now say that in English," Bobby said.

"I fell through the floor of my bedroom trying to get to the door and ended up here," I translated. "You wouldn't have happened to see someone else come through, would you? She'd have the same eyes as me, be a few inches taller, shorter hair, but her wit is as sharp as mine. Sometimes. I mean, there's just those days, y'know? You insult your sibling, they insult you back, it turns into an all-out war and suddenly you're five years old again. Except with less maturity."

"Right . . ." Sam said, obviously rethinking my supposed sanity.

Who told him I had any in the first place?

I turned to Dean. "Dude," I advised, "you should try chimichangas sometime instead of all those pies and burgers. Seriously. They're better than getting laid."

Sam frowned. "You're only at least sixteen years old."

"Fifteen. Yah. That's how I know. Virgins who don't care will think of thousands of things that're better than getting laid. For them, at least. Once they do it, they're ruined forever. Innocence lost to the whims of a godforsaken society."

"You like drama, don't you?" Dean said.

"Who doesn't?" I replied. "I mean, jeez, it's like a drug. Once you're addicted, there's almost no going back. Except for you, Sam. You've got, like, less drama in your soul than a badly cooked meatloaf."

His expression seemed lost. "Meatloaf?"

"You've never seen a badly cooked meatloaf, have you? I tell ya, they practically drain all the fun right outta you. You can hear them screaming faintly, their tiny voices going 'Help, help! I'm badly cooked! Kill me now, world! _Kill me nooow_!'"

"Okay, wait," Sam interrupted me. "Look, who are you?"

I gave him a thumbs-up. "Lizzy 'Lost-My-Mind-In-The-Garbage-Disposal' Awesome, at your greatly attractive service."

Sam let out a small laugh. "Okay, Lizzy, where are you from?"

"A dimension where you and Deany-boy over there are characters in a TV show," I answered.

Dean groaned. "Not that one."

I pointed a finger at him. "Yes, that one, Dean-o. You're immensely gorgeous and I am enamored with your studly jaw."

"Uh, right. Well, do you know how to get back?" Sam said over Dean's "What?".

I snorted. "Dude, if I knew, I'd be long-gone by now. Except I wouldn't, because how many people get an opportunity like this? Nah, I'd be long-gone . . . sometime later, but definitely long-gone and I'd never, ever come back 'cause deep down I'm really my sister's flunky and those monsters ya'll face are very, very scary. Very scary."

"Okay," Sam said slowly, "that could be a problem."

"Small problem." I held up my thumb and index finger, spacing them inches apart. "Very small. Long as I've got my beautiful boys, I'll be fine."

"Your 'boys?" Sam asked.

"You guys!" I cheered.

"Us? You want to come with us?"

"Where else am I gonna go? Stay with Bobby? Okay, maybe. I'd likely only annoy him, though. But, Sam," I said, looking into his eyes, "I'm not good. I'm not brave. I'm basically useless, aside from what I know of the future. And that . . . well, I can't tell you. But I promise you, I'm going to change this. Okay? You, Sam. You don't deserve what's going to happen. Dean doesn't deserve it. Bobby definitely doesn't deserve it, and Castiel . . . he just wants to be able to do something. He wants to help. He wants to make everything better. Who here doesn't? But I don't like it. Castiel is just too powerful. Things will happen along the way. As I do this, I'm not certain what lies ahead of us. But I'm not going to just sit back and watch it happen because I'm afraid. 'Kay? 'Kay." I sat back, satisfied. "Also, I'm going to change the tunes on your car. Baby could use some different music once in a while, and despite what I think is great taste, I don't know the lyrics to any of it. I need to sing, Dean, I need to be wild and free. So whaddaya say? We have a deal?"

We didn't have a deal.

* * *

"C'mon, Dean," I complained from the back seat of the Impala. "You can't do this to me. I'm like a beggar starving for food. Except I want my music instead. I promise I won't put on any terribly girly songs. I know plenty of bands that aren't girly. Please?"

"No. No way am I letting you change my music."

"You could turn off the music and I could just sing what I want," I suggested.

He snorted. "No."

"Sam," I complained, turning to my last resort. My eyes filled with tears and my lips trembled.

As I expected, he quailed, giving in to the terrible effect of my adorableness.

"Dean, just let her sing what she wants, all right?"

"My hero," I said, looking at him adoringly.

"Sammy, you can't tell me you're falling for this," Dean argued. "She's a con, you know that."

"I give candy to the poor and beat up the rich," I said, deadpan.

Dean snorted.

"Why can't we all be friends?" I sang.

Dean pointed at me. "No."

"When we're together, we're stronger, when we're alone, the hours seem longer . . ."

He threw something at me.

I gasped. "I was just singing for you!"

"Sing for someone else."

"But I'm so cute," I protested. "How can you deny THIS?" I gestured at my face.

"Very, very easily," he told me.

I shrank back, giving him a wounded look. "You have no heart."

"Thank God."

"I think your brother needs a hug, Sam," I murmured, straightening up. "Heck, who doesn't? C'mon, brotherly love, man. Be a pal."

"Don't you dare," Dean warned Sam.

"I wanna get you guys alive t'gether," I said. "I want ya'll to burn bright like you did before. I want you to catch each other as you fall, and pull yourselves up before you hit the ground and break into the pieces, sharp and cracked, that will make you up and save you all."

"What does that even mean?" Dean muttered.

I looked at him. "It means I want you both to slowly draw each other to the light." I smiled, knowing they wouldn't understand the importance of what I was saying, and what it later meant at the end of the trials to Sam, and then to Dean. "The one at the end of the tunnel. The light called hope, and faith. Belief and life. The one that calls you to stand up and not drown. The one that blinds you and then revives you, keeping you in well mind. The one that I'm telling you about all sage and Zen and awesome an' stuff 'cause I know my goodies and you should really listen to me so's I don't have to get Bobby to beat on you guys until you finally get it, which you still aren't so I should really get his phone number."

There was a moment of silence.

"You're worse than Sam," Dean accused.

"Yes," I said triumphantly.

And that was the end of it.

* * *

"So are ya'll still bitter over Papa Winchester?" I asked over breakfast. Waffles, yum.

Dean choked on his hamburger and Sam nearly drowned himself with his glass of water.

"I'm just asking," I said mildly. "It's not like I asked for the details of doing the bedroom boogie with Ruined-Your-Life Ruby."

If I continued on with this, someday I'd give them both heart attacks.

"Nevermind," I said dismissively. "Of course you're still bitter. I mean, dude. S'not like he just keeled over from too much baked beans." I paused. "Does he eat baked beans? Are they good in tacos? Wait, I'm getting away from the topic. The point is, I like chili and rice. And cheese. It's even better with cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? It's like a universal thing. It just doesn't happen. You can't not like cheese."

They were staring at me. Had I said something wrong?

"Not that I have anything against people who don't like cheese," I soothed. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll find a kindred spirit one day who doesn't have a fondness for cheese, either."

They ignored me. I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to that.

"You find anything?" Dean asked Sam.

Sam unfurled a newspaper and handed it to his brother.

"'Man attacked by his own toothbrush holder'," Dean read aloud. "Okay . . . that's definitely something you don't see every day."

"Think it could be a ghost?" I asked, wolfing down my food like it's going out of style. Which it did. About nine-hundred years ago.

"Yeah, mayb-"

"Dean."

They both jumped. I started to suffocate on the waffle stuck in my throat. Eventually, one of my flailing limbs caught my glass of water and I dumped it in my mouth, slapping my chest with my free hand.

No one noticed. What was I, invisible or something? Why did no one see my waffle-induced anguish?

"Damn it, Cas," Dean cursed. "What have I told you? You can't just suddenly appear like that."

"I apologize, Dean." He paused and looked at me. "Who is this?"

I gave him a pinkie wave as I dabbed at the water currently soaking into the shirt Dean had lent me. "Lizzy Awesomesauce, your fluffy-winged greatness. I promise you, I'm not trying to steal Dean's affections." I ignored Dean as he choked again. "I think I'm more likely to get beaten up, actually."

I watched delightedly as the Angel tilted his head. "Why would Dean want to hurt you?"

"He wouldn't," I assured him. "I'm just amazing that way. I'm like a good chocolate shake. You just can't give it up."

Castiel watched me for a moment before turning to Dean. "Dean, I have come to inform you that the demon Ysabelle wants you and Sam for her own."

"Like faithful puppies," I cheered.

I got Looks.

"You must work at that," I told them. "Ya'll 're naturals."

"Why does she want us?" Dean asked, frowning.

"She seems to think that you are 'adorable and studly'," Cas quoted.

Dean and Sam stared at him.

"It's true," I sighed. "What you could do with faces like yours."

Then they stared at me.

"It's not my fault you're the secret chicken pot pies of my heart," I defended. Then I added, "You, too, Cas. You're the Hotpocket of my soul."

They didn't seem reassured. I wondered if they picked up on my subtle flirting techniques.

I patted the seat beside me. "Sit down, Cas. Have a waffle. Have tea. Have something. Anything. You can even have me," I volunteered. "I mean. We'll probably end up in a hardcore round of Go Fish, but you can still have me. If you want. Even if you don't want. I'll be your shield, baby."

Cas looked confused. Dean and Sam looked at me like I was some kind of fascinating creature they'd never seen before. Heck, I probably was.

I smiled at my group of brokenhearted heroes.

The survivor, who needed so much to be needed.

The good man, who needed peace and caused conflict.

The soldier angel, who needed to help but didn't know how.

"What an ironic world this is," I said.

The three fighters of war looked at me.

I held up a small, pale green box. "Mint?"

Once I said that, I had to explain what a mint was to Cas by way of saying, "It freshens your breath."

And then I had to tell him how breath can be freshened.

I smiled, and I laughed, and I wished I could soothe them all, but I settled instead for binding their wounds and hoping that their scars wouldn't be cut open to bleed once more.

And then I pushed my mind to rest in a certain way that I could move through what would come, because nothing would ever be the same again and if I just existed in this mindset, I could still be myself at the end of it.

I pointed at my plate. "Who wants to give my waffle a syrup moustache?"

None of them wanted to give my waffle a syrup moustache.


	2. Chapter 2: The Dreams in Which I'm Dying

**I just want you to know that I wrote this as fast and as good as I could, and I hope I don't disappoint. I finally figured out where this is, too. It's somewhere in the fourth . . . or fifth season. I dunno, I'm too lazy to look it up.**

**Also, I wanted to thank a few people, so:**

**To athiusa: Since I can't thank you properly, I'm gonna have to make do with this. You have no idea how happy you made me, and I wanted to do something for you, so I wrote this chapter as quickly as possible. I hope you like it, and I hope Lizzy meets your every expectation.**

**To Andrea: I despise you. You are the bane of my existence. You steal the joy from my life and replace it with burned bacon and cold spaghetti. And** _**no,**_** not in a million years am I ever giving you my ice cream cone. Also, make sure you get the silverware from the car. Thanks, Drea. You're the best sister ever.**

**(I've got two characters in this story of mine, Andrea, and they're both speaking to you. You'll most likely never read this, which is why I'm writing it. You know what Sherlock says, Drea. "Ugh. _Sentiment._" You'll hound me for the rest of my days if you ever DO read this. So I rilly rilly hope you never, ever, ever, _ev-errr_ . . . read this. Ever.)**

**And that's it.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"We need to get a few things before we do anything else," I announced as we left the diner. I got inside the Impala and waited for Sam and Dean to slide in. "Who votes for Wal*Mart?"

No one voted for Wal*Mart, so I took it upon myself to convince them of my genius.

"C'mon, Dean," I wheedled. "Be a pal. It's only a few things! It's not like I'm asking to drive Baby or anything."

"No."

"But Dean!"

He ignored me.

"Dean. Dean. Dean. Dude. Dean. Dean my man. Dean. Dude. Dude. Dude. Dean. Dean-o. Dean. Dude. Dude. Yo. Dean. Dude. Dea-"

He turned around to give me a glare that would have charred me on the spot if I hadn't had amazing willpower.

I cowered before him. "I won't do it again, I pwomise."

I was proud to see that my strategic tactics worked.

He turned back to the road. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then I said, "If I can't get my stuff, can I at least wear Cas's trenchcoat?"

When they all looked at me incredulously, I died a little bit inside.

"Yeah," I said smugly. "That's what I thought.

We went to Wal*Mart.

* * *

"You got a trenchcoat," Dean said once we pulled away.

"I got a trenchcoat," I murmured.

"That's all you really wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yeppers."

"Why?"

"'Cause I want to marry this trenchcoat and have its babies," I stated. "They'll be tiny raincoats at first, but then they'll grow up to be corporate tuxedos."

He looked at me as if I were an asylum inmate. That, or a Leviathan in a leotard. "You're so weird."

"I know," I said demurely.

"Dean."

The car swerved.

Dean swore colorfully. "Give us some warning next time, Cas!"

"I apologize, Dean, but you have to know that Ysabelle has sent her demons after you and they are closing in."

"How close, Cas?"

Another car came up against the Impala.

Dean cursed and managed to avoid getting Baby scratched.

"No, Dean! Don't you know a mating ritual when you see one?" I exclaimed. Then I looked closer. "No, wait, those are just demons. Nevermind, false alarm."

I feel certain he would have killed me at that moment had he not been otherwise occupied.

"Can you do something about them, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I will try," Castiel agreed, and he poofed.

I saw him appear in the backseat of the demon's car and reach over to clasp the black-eyed creature's head in one hand. Light poured out of its eyes and mouth, and I watched the demon inside of him die. The demon in the passenger seat immediately left the body it had borrowed, not even bothering to try and kill the angel with a knife it knew wouldn't work.

Castiel appeared beside me again. I gave him a thumbs-up. "That was cool, but can I get some popcorn next time?"

He tilted his head as if trying to figure me out.

Well, try all you like, pal. I'm unfathomable.

From the looks they were giving me, you'd think I just said that out loud.

"Unfathomable? Really?" Dean said in disbelief.

Oh.

"I'm sane," I defended, as if he'd just asked whether or not I was. "I'm perfectly sane."

I don't think they believed me.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I'm sitting at a table on a patio with my sister.

"Tea?" she asked, holding up her teacup.

"Can I have a badger with that?" I asked.

She nodded and pulled a badger out from under her chair, settling in the teapot. "What've you been up to, Lizzy?"

"Oh, you know," I said casually. "My usual awesomesauce."

She grinned. "So have I, Sissy, so have I."

"Did you notice that I'm wearing a trenchcoat?" I asked.

"I did," she assured me. "I like it. Hope you got one for me, too."

I grinned back and tossed a bag at her. "You betcha."

She took out the trenchcoat and held it to her chest. "Have I ever told you that I love you?"

"Many times," I said smugly.

"Yeah, right."

"Mostly in my imagination," I admitted.

She smiled widely. "So why'd you dream me up?"

"I missed you," I told her. "You're my partner in crime. The lyrics to my song. The cheesecake to my diet. The shampoo to my conditioner. The dry forest to my raging wildfire."

"I could've done without those other three. 'Lyrics to my song'. That was a good line."

"I know," I said. "I thought of it just for you."

"I know," she told me. "Because you're the words in which I write on the pages of our lives."

"Dude."

"Yeah," she said smugly.

"You're my sister," I said.

"I hadn't noticed."

"You're my sister," I repeated. "Do you know what that means to me?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means light shining through my darkness. It means a voice that will always sing with me. It means books that we'll both read and movies we'll watch together, it means stories written with each other and endless warmth, even if the night is cold. It means a fire that will never go out, and even if it does, then we shall burn up together. It means . . . it means looking at a golden sunset and thinking that not even these glimmering flames in the bright blue sky are so beautiful as you."

There was a moment of silence as my sister looked at me.

Finally, she spoke. "Whoa."

"Wow, that was mushy," I admitted. "Can we go back to seven seconds ago, please?"

"Dude, I am never forgetting you said that," she announced.

"You will," I said firmly. "Otherwise, I'm gonna go hide in a hole with my trenchcoat."

"When what you say is mush, and in the mortifying hush," she sang, "you go and find some place to die peacefully . . ."

I hit her.

* * *

Someone shook me awake.

"Hey, wake up."

I grumbled and batted at the hand trying to shake my shoulder. "Not now, Ma. I said I'd feed the gator some other time."

"I don't even want to know what you were dreaming about."

I cracked open my eyelids to see Dean's face a little ways from mine. I slapped a hand against his cheek and said, "Wait your turn, darlin'. The bandits have found us and we ladies gotta stick together."

I heard Sam muffle a snort.

Dean looked pained, as if he wished to unhear what I just said. Either that, or he was constipated.

I preferred to think it was the first.

I sat up, patting my hair down, and turned to look blearily out the window. "Where are we?"

Dean shrugged. "One minute we were driving, the next . . ."

"You guys never do anything safe," I complained. I opened the door and held out my hand. "Help me up, Sam-man."

He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. I pushed my hair out of my face and peered at a man nearby. He looked kind of faded, as if not all of him was there. I pointed at him. "Hey, I know that guy! He's . . . he's . . . uh . . . uhh . . . I got nothin'."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Anyone could've made the same mistake," I mumbled.

"Right." But his expression said, "Step away, crazy bag lady."

"Not a bag lady," I muttered as I glared at him.

He didn't seem reassured of my sanity, so I said, "Don't look at me like that. I've got pride, dignity, and all kinds of mental stability."

It didn't look like he believed me, though.

I sniffed and glanced around. "Any ideas?"

Sam sighed. "None yet, but I'm still thinking."

"Of course you are, poor thing," I said sympathetically.

Dean snorted.

A nearby tree exploded.

I looked at him incredulously. "What did you _do_?"

His expression was as dumbfounded as Sam's. "Nothing! I was just standing here."

"Uh-huh," I said skeptically. "Right. Just standing there."

"What do you think I did?"

"You snorted," I accused.

"And that somehow made a tree explode?"

"I don't know how, but it's all your fault, I just know it."

"Yeah, that makes a load of sense."

"If you sneeze, Sam will blow up."

"Whoa, hey," Sammy instantly said. "Don't bring me into this."

"But who else am I going to bring into it?" I asked curiously. "Cas isn't here. Bobby's not either. I suppose I could blame God," I added doubtfully. "I think it only works if He's actually here, though."

"How about yourself?" Dean suggested.

"Me? Pshaw. As if. How could any of this be my fault? It's ridiculous."

Dean banged his head against the Impala.

I frowned at him and was about to mention it when, suddenly, nine demons appeared out of nowhere.

A pretty female one stepped forward, smiling in a way that said she had what she wanted. "Hello, Dean. Sam. Lizabeth."

I waved. "Hi, Yzzy."

And then they took us.

* * *

I bolted upright and whacked my head against another demon's.

I shrank back, grabbing my forehead. "Owie."

He stumbled back, clutching his head.

I looked around to see Dean and Sam, shackled to the wall. I gave them both a pinkie wave. "Hi, guys. Wassup?"

"No talking," Ysabelle chided me. "Not to them."

"But-"

"No buts," the demon I'd whacked on the head hissed.

"Pfft. You said butts."

He looked at me as if he couldn't believe my immaturity. "You are SUCH a child."

"Shows you."

Dean let his head fall forward. Sam looked as if he was stifling laughter.

I looked down at myself and frowned. "Did you take my trenchcoat?"

Ysabelle smiled. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Why?"

She shrugged gracefully. "Because I like it."

"Meanie."

She just looked at me with her black eyes.

"Yer a mean meanie."

Snorts escaped Sammy.

The demon I'd hit curled his lip. "And you're an immature child."

"So are you," I pointed out.

He glowered at me. "No more so than you."

"No."

"Yes."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"T-"

"Will you two shut up?" Dean hissed.

I frowned disapprovingly at him. "Language, Dean," I chided. "Don't be rude."

"We've been kidnapped by demons and you're telling me not to be rude?"

I thought about it. "Yep."

Ysabelle rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Devon." And dense demon smoke rushed out of the mouth of the man that Devon had possessed, tearing out an open window to . . . somewhere.

"I kinda liked him," I commented.

Dean started hitting his head back against the stone wall.

"Dean, stop it," Sam said.

"You shouldn't," Ysabelle told me, her lips curving in amusement. "He was a terrible murderer in life. You shouldn't be so relaxed around us. We could hurt, and the only reason would be that we were bored."

"Aw, don't be like that, Sissy," I protested.

Sam paused, glancing between us. "She's your sister?"

"My Yzzy," I replied.

"My Lizzy," Ysabelle murmured.

"Then why did she kidnap us?"

"Really, I'm doing you a favor," she said. "You should have faced this long ago."

"Yzzy," I said, "whatever you're about to do, don't."

"Goodbye, Dean, Sam." She tilted her head slightly, smiled. "Lizzy." Then she pressed a kiss to my forehead, snapped her fingers, and we fell into dearly unwanted dreams.

* * *

I found myself at . . . home? Yes, I was home.

"Hello?"

I looked around, called out, but no one answered. I wandered into different rooms, trying to find my family.

Nobody was there.

I decided to wait, just in case, and went to find one of the dozens of books my sister and I get from the local library.

I couldn't find any. No books, no TV, no computer. Just furniture, the beds, and blank walls.

I left the bedroom and went to the front door. I opened it and walked out, only to find myself in what seemed to be an abandoned neighborhood. The streets were empty, the houses dark, no matter that it was in the middle of the day. I walked around for a bit, but saw no one. Just trees and grass and vacant homes.

I went back to my house. Our house, except I was the only one there.

I hummed a tune, waiting on a couch. The silence got to be too much, and I began to sing quietly to myself.

_"Cause I'm broken, when I'm open . . . and I don't feel like I am strong enough . . . 'Cause I'm broken, when I'm lonesome, and I don't feel right . . . when you're gone away . . ."_ I stopped singing, suddenly aware of the meaning behind the lyrics.

It was daylight outside, and I was all alone in a hollow house.

Humanity's greatest fear is being left alone (I am not an exception).

I remember a time not too many days ago when I was telling my mother goodnight, all the while thinking something along the lines of, "This is my Mama. My Papa. And They are going to die. Everything dies eventually." And suddenly I'd felt terribly, terribly lonesome.

Months ago, I'd awoken to an empty house. I'd sat down on our couch and I'd wanted to cry. Then I got over it. I'd had no words for how relieved I was when my family walked through the door.

I snapped out of the melancholy thoughts, slapping myself on the forehead, where Ysabelle had kissed me. "Bite me, Loneliness," I announced to an empty room. "You can have me, but not forever. You know why? 'Cause I got _skillz_."

I waited. No one replied back, and nothing bit me. Or my mad skillz

I hummed quietly. Then I said, "The definition of the word 'silence' is an illusion, 'The absence or lack of noise', it means. It's a lie. Silence rings. It pierces your ears. Breaking it is a relief. In light of this, I assume you can understand why I'm talking to myself like either a desperate woman or a mad one."

No one answered.

I sat there alone and waited for someone to come home.

* * *

Sam stood on an empty asphalt road, the sky above as dark as the shadows below. Only the light of the almost too-bright moon lit the world around him.

"Dean?"

His voice echoed. There was no one to answer him.

No matter.

He began to walk, intent on finding his brother and their new companion.

All the trees that he could see were dead, the leaves on the ground dried and grey. It seemed strangely fitting, and he knew he dreamed, but he felt that he belonged to this odd place.

A spider in its web and alone in its hunger.

He wanted out.

The road grew smoother as he walked, the rubble beneath his shoes becoming less frequent the farther along he got. There were no clouds in the sky. He thought that if there had been, it would have been a welcome relief from the constant darkness and the shining of the immense moon. He'd never seen a moon that big before, and he didn't why he wasn't alarmed.

He was waiting for something, he realized. What it was, he didn't know.

This world made him feel fragile, as if he were standing on glass that could break at any moment. When he looked down, though, all he saw was the asphalt beneath him.

But now he registered that it looked more like he was walking on solidified darkness, not a road at all, and abruptly, he wished the moonlight would glowed brighter.

It slowly began to rain, large drops of heavy liquid that seemed as dark as shadows. It trailed down his face and dampened his hair and clothes.

It was off. It was wrong. This wasn't rain, he knew it, he felt it.

He looked down at his hand, liquid sliding down his fingers. It wasn't black, he could see that now.

It was red. Dark red, like blood.

He tried to make sense of it. Why would the sky rain red?

Because it was his dream, he realized. His world. It manifested long-forgotten thoughts and feelings, and suddenly he didn't want to know why the rain was red.

Too late.

He knew that color, knew that taste, that smell.

The sky was crying demon blood.

He lifted his head as trails of the crimson liquid ran down his cheeks in a macabre version of tears, soaking into his skin and obscuring his vision.

He knew, quite abruptly, that nothing was going to be all right. this wasn't going to go away, and he couldn't will it gone. Unless he woke up, he was trapped in a dream world where he had no say it what he saw or experienced.

He started to run.

He knew he couldn't escape, and he wasn't trying to. He was going to find his brother.

(He was going to find the only one who could save him.)

* * *

Dean looked around to suddenly find himself in a field of love-lies-bleeding. He didn't know how he knew what the red flowers were called, and he didn't much care.

Sammy wasn't there, and he couldn't have his brother getting into trouble again.

He surveyed everything around him.

The sky was cloudless, and an almost glimmering shade of pale blue. The sun was burnished gold, making the sunlight shining down sparkle with what looked like gold-dust. The love-lies-bleeding was dripping water from blood-colored petals, glistening in the gold-dust light like drops of crystal blue.

It was beautiful.

He hated it.

He tromped through the annoyingly lovely flowers, an almost satisfied feeling rising up as he imagined hearing tiny screams from the brightly brilliant flora.

He had been spending way too much time with Lizzy.

Suddenly, he stilled, and looked up as dark veins of black wove through the otherwise pure white clouds, creating an ominous atmosphere and filling him with wariness.

Dark gray rolled across the bright blue sky, darkening the once light air and giving it a heavy tint of apprehensiveness.

The earth below him started to split apart, stopping just before too big a rift grew in the ground.

"Dean."

He spun around. "What have I been telling you, Cas!"

"I apologize, Dean," the angel said.

"How are you here, anyway?"

"I am not," Castiel admitted.

"Huh?"

"I am a part of your dream, not truly your Castiel."

"Not mine," Dean defended.

"Not yours, then," Cas agreed.

"So why are you here?"

"Because I am a large part of you," Castiel explained. "Your brother, Sam, is much larger."

"I know that."

"Yes."

Dean gestured at the ground. "Why's it doing that?"

"It is also a part of you. It's a minute shard of the time you spent in Hell."

"I'd have expected it to be torn apart," Dean remarked.

Cas smiled. "You would."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because you are cracked," Castiel told him. "You are cracked, but not broken."

"Cas . . ."

"Dean, you have to-" Then Castiel burned up in white fire, leaving the shadows of black feathers against the trees behind him.

More jagged tears appeared in the earth as the sky became a color reminiscent of Hell.

He didn't want to watch, but he couldn't look away.

Rusted chains were scattered on the ground and hanging from the trees that were now the color of ash. They clattered and creaked together, creating a sound that made him want to scream. The black veins in the clouds stretched farther, reaching across the sky and wrapping around the pure white sun, spreading its ominous taint as the wind howled like a Hellhound in search of debts not yet paid.

It began to rain, but the water was black and glistening, like oil.

Dean backed away as as inky tears slid down his cheeks and splattered on the ground, but he was trapped by the dead trees extending their branches to make a cage of grey limbs. Dread chilled him, and it felt like ice slipping into his blood. He couldn't move, could barely stand to see the sky and its poisonous color, raining down black waterdrops that ran down his face. They tasted like smoke and blood.

Bright black stars began to fall from the sky. One hit the ground, sparks of sable fire burning Dean's skin and searing a hole into the earth that he could see lead to an abyss of nothingness.

Darkness dominated the void, but Dean could hear wails and moans and fingernails digging into the walls of the chasm. It repulsed him.

(It scared him.)

The wind sounded like screams now, and he flinched involuntarily as dark red lightning forked across the sky and thunder crashed louder than the roaring gale.

Voices and whispers accompanied the gusts, telling him, "Worthless."

"It's not because of a dream that you're in Hell again."

"Debtors always, _always_ pay their dues."

"Failure."

"You stopped the Yellow-Eyed Demon but couldn't save your brother?"

"He needed you, and you disappointed him."

"No wonder he turned to demon blood."

"No wonder."

The words grasped onto his shame and wouldn't let go. They slithered inside of him, curling around his heart and bleeding him until he had no more to give or have taken. They scraped against his psyche and purred when he bled a little more.

The rain became like knives in his flesh, and Hell was clawing at his mind and breaking through his sense, turning his memories into talons that dug into him and pried pain from his skull. The chains rattled and crawled up from the ground to wrap around his legs and hold him down. No one heard him as he shouted and cried out, for no one was listening to the name snatched by the wind over and over again.

"_SAM!_"


	3. Chapter 3: Awake and Alive

**Here it is, guys. The last chapter. Hope you enjoyed Lizzy's soul-searching journey of wisdom and greatness and the ultimate knowing of oneself.**

**Yeah, that's exactly what this is.**

**And there no way you can convince me otherwise.**

**(What? I'm sane. I'm perfectly sane. What's that look for? I'm not crazy. I'm _not_. I'm sane. Sane, I tell you . . .)**

* * *

Lizzy lasted five minutes in silence.

Then she stood up and waved her arms around. Her elbow whacked into the wall. She grabbed it and folded up. "Owwwwww," she complained loudly. "Dang it." She rubbed her poor, abused elbow and then stood up again, slowly and still holding her arm.

Then she raised her fist, declared "This is _so boring_," and walked out of the empty house.

She wandered down the lonesome streets, occasionally tilting her head back to look at the cloudy gray sky.

Then she tripped over a rock.

She stumbled and crashed into a tree, smacking her knee on the hard bark. "Curse you, Ysabelle," she swore, staggering onward.

She lasted thirteen seconds before tripping over another rock and colliding with a nearby wall.

She stayed there for a moment, slumped against the stonework. Then she drew herself up, collected what was left of her dignity, and continued on.

Then she reached up to brush aside her hair and poked herself in the eye.

"Dagnabbit!" she swore. "Someone's messin' with me! Well, this is my dream, and no one else is allowed to play with it! So bugger off."

She waited.

Nothing happened.

She snorted. "Typical. Cowards," she added, and pressed forward.

It was five minute before she found herself in a garden, mist floating in the air and making drops of water run down her face. She glanced around, then smiled and began following the path laid into the ground. It came to a stop at a table in the middle of the garden, as white as the chairs that went with it.

She sat down and waited once more.

Before long, a voice said behind her, "Well done, Lizzy."

She made a high, choked sound that was a few octaves below a shriek, and whirled around. She grabbed her chest with one hand, panting. "Don't _do_ that to me, Yzzy. You could've given me a heart attack!"

Ysabelle sat down in the chair at the end of the table, beside Lizzy's. "Don't be silly, Lizzy. You knew I was coming, and you know this is a dream. You shouldn't have been surprised."

"Not my fault you came out of nowhere an' tried to make my heart explode," she mumbled as she sat down again.

Ysabelle rolled her eyes before snapping her fingers.

Vines crawled over onto the table, then retreated, leaving a tray of tea and sugar.

Ysabelle picked up hers and sipped it. She looked thoughtfully at the cup before turning to Lizzy. "Would you like some, Liz? It's really not bad at all."

Lizzy shrugged and picked up her own cup. "Sure." She blew on the hot liquid, then glanced at her sister. "Why are you dressed like the White Queen from 'Alice in Wonderland'?"

Ysabelle shrugged. "Because in this place, in this garden, you expected me to be." She thought a moment before adding, "Besides, I adore the new digs."

Lizzy snickered. "I bet you do."

Ysabelle smiled, then became serious. "Lizzy, you know how to get out of here."

Lizzy looked at her dubiously. "I do?"

"You do."

"Uhh . . ."

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Ysabelle said, exasperated. "Wake up!"

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

". . . how do I do that?"

Ysabelle hit her over the head with a book.

Hard.

* * *

Sam didn't want to know if the road was never-ending. Or maybe he just didn't care.

He couldn't find Dean.

He just . . . couldn't find him.

The demon-blood rain had stopped. He hadn't.

The night was dark, almost burning his eyes. He wanted the stars to return, and at the same time, wanted them to stay away.

He didn't think he could bear the light.

What would happen if he just kept going? If he kept running, would he never stop? Would he never find the way out?

"No," he said aloud. The sound seemed almost deafening in the eerie silence that echoed afterwards.

He wouldn't do that. Wouldn't succumb to the suffocating stillness and the unrelenting darkness the dream world provided.

But still came the thought,

_("What else can I do?")_

He slowed to a stop.

There was nothing, except . . . to change his course.

So instead of running down a never-ending road, he walked off into the forest surrounding it.

It was just as oppressive as the asphalt path, maybe even more so.

He knew a faltering of his will before resolve pressed him forward, leading him deeper into the dark forest. Then, suddenly, he could hear voices all around him, saying

_"Failure-"_

_"Disappointment-"_

_"How could you-"_

_"Let them down-"_

_"Coward-"_

_"Why are you so weak-"_

_"Demon-"_

_"Where were you-"_

_"When Jess died-"_

_"When Dad died-"_

_"When Mom died-"_

_"When Dean died-"_

_"Where were you?"_

_"Monster."_

He couldn't shut them out.

He went deeper into the forest. The ground was now black, as were the trees. He could no longer see the sky.

No matter. It would be no less darker.

_"Monster."_

_"He should have let you stay dead."_

_"He wishes he had."_

"No," Sam said sharply. "Dean would never want that."

_"Demon-spawn."_

_"Wouldn't he?"_

"I-no, no, Dean-"

_"Betrayer."_

_"So prideful."_

_"So wanting."_

_"So weak."_

"Dean wouldn't-"

_"Why not?"_

_"Because you're his brother?"_

A dark chuckled filled the air.

_"Oh, and what a brother you are."_

_"Traitor."_

"Dean wouldn't think that," he said. But his tone was quiet, uncertain.

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Are you-"_

_"Sure?"_

"He wouldn't think that," Sam said again, and his voice was stronger.

_"Then go,"_ the voices urged.

_"Before it's too late."_

_"Before he calls for you, and you never answer him."_

_"Go."_

He turned and started to run through the forest.

He would be there when Dean called.

(If he wasn't, a part of him would die along with a part of his brother.)

He would be there.

* * *

The screams were louder now.

They echoed in his ears, making them bleed. The air burned his eyes until he couldn't see anything but a blur of chains and blood and the indescribable, sickening color of the sky.

Someone was screaming one word over and over again, and it was making his head hurt.

He wished they would stop, wished they would just quiet . . .

. . . oh.

He shut his mouth, cutting off the sound of his brother's name.

A Hellhound howled somewhere, and he suddenly wanted Sam, wanted his voice to reassure him and his touch to bring him out of his Hell.

There was no one else who could do it, because there was no one else like his brother.

(He would never tell him that, though.)

Like Sam.

(Because it's so, so hard to tell someone you love them.)

The chains let him go, slithering out from around his wrists and letting him fall to the gray, hard ground. He stumbled on his feet, but kept his balance.

Why were they letting him go now?

The answer came in the sound of his brother's voice.

"Dean."

Sam walked out from the dark forest surrounding him, and as he did so, the chains crawled back into the earth and the Hellhounds cut off into silence.

"Sam," Dean breathed.

His brother stood in front of him, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you alright? I tried to find you earlier, but something was stopping me."

Dean stood straighter, putting on a casual mask that he knew Sam could see right through. "Yeah, I'm fine." Then he ran his gaze over his brother. "Why? Are you hurt? Dammit, did they-"

"Nothing happened," Sam interrupted, a faint smile curling his lips. "I'm fine. Besides, what would you have done if something had happened? Killed a dream for me?"

"Yes," he said instantly.

Sam looked as if he had no doubt Dean could have done it. "Look, we should probably find a way to get out of here."

Dean snorted. "And how're we gonna manage to do that?"

"I was thinking I could try to wake you up, and if it worked, you could shake me awake or something."

Dean shrugged. "Go ahead."

Sam punched him in the face.

* * *

I blinked my eyes open, only to see Sam and Dean in front of me, still asleep.

They were a little tied up.

"Yo," I whispered loudly. "Dudes. Wakey-wakey."

It didn't work. I tried shouting at them, but nothing happened.

Then, a few minutes later, Dean started to wake up.

I tried to give him a reason to do it faster.

"Hey," I called. "You. Villain. Jerk. Reprobate. Scoundrel. Rogue. Wastrel. Cad."

"Why are you calling me lame insults?" Dean asked, squinting at me.

I sniffed. "You are not a gentleman."

"Yeah, tell me something new." He turned his head to look at Sam, who lay beside him.

He kicked him in the ankle. "Wake up."

Sam didn't move.

Dean kicked him harder.

Sam made a muffled sound, but opened his eyes and squinted at Dean. "Stop kicking me."

"You punched me in the face."

"I was trying to wake you up. It worked, didn't it? I'm sorry if that ruined your pretty face."

"So you acknowledge I'm a fine specimen of masculinity."

Sam snorted. Loudly.

"Finally awake, are you?" Ysabelle said as she came into the room.

"I _knew_ it was you," Lizzy said triumphantly. "Making me whack my elbow and trip over rocks and smack into trees and crash into walls and poke myself in the eye."

She stared at me, as if _I_ were the insane one. "Ah . . . no. That was all you."

"Oh."

She turned to Sam and Dean. "So. You're fully conscious, I see."

"No thanks to you," Dean bit off.

"Oh, my." She looked amused. "Are we a bit irritable after our little nap?"

"Yes, we are," I declared. "It wasn't even a very nice nap, either."

Ysabelle smiled. "You poor things. Do you understand now?"

"Yup," I said smugly.

She raised an eyebrow. "And what is it, exactly, that you understand?"

"That I shouldn't be afraid that no one's there. Because someone's always there," I answered dutifully. "Always."

She nodded toward Sam and Dean. "And them?"

"Oh. I have no idea."

She laughed. "Perhaps that's just as well. You shouldn't have to know what they should."

"I know one thing," I said.

"What is that?"

"They don't like you very much."

"They wouldn't."

"And you really shouldn't stick around."

"Why not?"

"'Cause Cas doesn't like people messing with his friends."

And just like that, Castiel appeared in the room, grabbing the demons' heads and exorcizing them from the bodies they inhabited until, finally, there was only Ysabelle.

I stood before her, meeting her black gaze. "Don't run, Yzzy."

"Give me a reason not to."

I smiled feebly. "The fact that you're asking means you already know."

Then there was none.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said as the Angel cut us all out of the ropes.

"You are welcome, Dean."

We got up, and I turned to Sam and Dean. "Hey, uh, you should know that I'm going home soon."

"How are you gonna do that?" Dean asked.

I shrugged. "It's a secret."

"Doesn't sound like much."

I smiled. "It's enough. Say goodbye to Bobby for me, 'kay?"

"Why don't you just tell him yourself?"

"I won't be here by then," I explained. "When I said soon, I meant _soon_." I looked at Sam. "Also, whatever you do, don't believe the message."

He looked perplexed. "The message?"

"Yeah. The one you get from Dean just before you kill Lilith." I thought a moment. "In fact, when you get it, it means just the opposite. 'Kay? It means the exact opposite of what it says. You have to believe that Dean wouldn't ever, ever say something like that to you. Because he wouldn't. I hope you know that. Just . . . the message is wrong. Listen to what it doesn't say, and then do what you'd have done if it had said exactly what it means."

Dean looked a bit disbelieving. "Why are you helping us?"

I blinked. "Why?"

"Yeah."

"'Cause I love you," I explained.

Dean looked as if I'd just told him that the next president of the United States was going to be Scooby Doo. "You . . . you _love_ me?"

"I love all of you," I said slowly. "Yeah. You and Sam and Bobby and Cas. And all the other people you just haven't met yet. Well, except for the ones who try to kill you. I don't really like them."

"We just met today," Dean said, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

_"You_ just met _me_ today," I corrected. "I met you, like, eight seasons ago."

"Huh?"

I nodded. "Yeah. So . . . I love ya. My sister loves ya. A million other people love ya. You're all just basically . . . loved." I paused, then added, "Ya."

They looked slightly stunned.

"Also, I really think you and Sam should just hug it out."

Dean choked.

Maybe I should have kept that thought to myself.

. . . _nahhhh._

Suddenly, a white light took over the wall behind me. I glanced at it, then back to Sam and Dean. "So. That's my ride." I looked at Cas, smiled. "You really should just trust Dean to have your back. The way you have his. You would never be a burden. All the fangirls say so." And, without waiting for a reply from any of them, I turned and jumped into the pool of glowing whiteness shining from the wall.

I think I heard someone curse before the light closed itself off and I was left in the darkness.

* * *

I opened my eyes.

I was back at my house, in my bed. My sister's face hovered above mine before she jerked back, blinking rapidly. "Jeez, Lizzy, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Serves you right," I muttered blearily as I sat up.

"What?" She gasped, offended. "How dare you!"

"How dare _you,_ knave," I replied.

She sniffed. "Don't speak back to me, peasant."

"Don't call me peasant, you pheasant."

We snickered together.

"I had a really weird dream," I said.

She looked at me curiously. "Really? What happened?"

"I dreamed I was in Supernatural, in the fourth season. Sam and Dean were there. And Bobby and Cas. We were kidnapped-me and Sam and Dean-by demons."

"That sounds interesting," she said, meaning it.

"The head demon sent us into a dream world. Different dream worlds, I mean. She looked a lot like you." I paused. "Except, you know, dignified. And elegant. And poised. And-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," my sister said, annoyed.

"-imposing. Basically, in personality, she was nothing like you."

My sister fell over onto her back. "Meanie."

"Very mean," I agreed. I fell back next to her. "So what're we doin' t'day?"

"'We'? Who's 'we'? You mean me and Mama's phone? Well, we've got plans for an expensive dinner at an expensive restaurant with expensive food and expensive wine, then a romantic walk along the glittering seaside-"

I started laughing.

She raised herself up on her elbow. "What? You think it's not enough?"

"Probably not," I replied. "Especially since your phone's cheating on you. With me."

She gasped. "No! Oh, how could George do this to me?"

"He's also cheating on you with Mama."

She moaned and buried her head in her arms. "Kill me now, cruel world."

"And the couch pillows."

She let out a sob.

I reached out and patted her shoulder. "I'm here for you," I said sympathetically.

"You? You're the mistress," she accused, her voice muffled by her arm.

"We can be mistresses together."

There was a pause, then we started to snigger. I rolled over to rest my head on her stomach, smiling.

"You know," Ysabelle finally said, "they should really hug it out."

"Dude, yeah. That's what I said."

And all was right with the world.

"Also, I took the liberty of eating your cookie."

"Excuse me?"

All was definitely NOT right with the world.

The End


End file.
